The flame-red moon， the harvest moon，

    Rolls along the hills， gently bouncing，

    A vast balloon，

    Till it takes off， and sinks upward

    To lie on the bottom of the sky， like a gold doubloon.

    The harvest moon has come，

    Booming softly through heaven， like a bassoon.

    And the earth replies all night， like a deep drum.

    So people can't sleep，

    So they go out where elms and oak trees keep

    A kneeling vigil， in a religious hush¹.

    The harvest moon has come！

    And all the moonlit cows and all the sheep

    Stare up at her petrified²， while she swells³

    Filling heaven， as if red hot， and sailing

    Closer and closer like the end of the world.

    Till the gold fields of stiff wheat

    Cry `We are ripe， reap us！' and the rivers

    Sweat from the melting hills.

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